


he'd be safe

by V_e_s_a_n_u_s



Series: Whumptober 2018 [20]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Injury, Love, Love Confessions, Love Triangles, M/M, Major Character Injury, Self-Sacrifice, Unrequited Love, Violence, Whumptober
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 16:28:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16391162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/V_e_s_a_n_u_s/pseuds/V_e_s_a_n_u_s
Summary: Day number 23 of #whumptober! Prompt was self-sacrifice!Only one thing ran through Mahanon's mind in that moment, "Don't hurt him!"(Same universe as 'the worst kind', where Adoribull are together, but Lavellan has feelings for a certain Tevinter mage ;) )





	he'd be safe

“Dorian!” Mahanon yelped, trying to get his attention. The mage was facing away from him, busy casting a spell, he didn’t hear him. The elf looked frantically back at the group of archers who had noticed the distracted mage. They’d fired a few arrows already, landing not far from Dorian’s back. 

Mahanon’s heart leapt into his throat. He couldn’t let anything happen to him. The next shot would probably hit its target, and the next might be lethal. In his mind, there was only one thing he could do. 

If he was thinking clearly, there were plenty of things he  _ could  _ have done. 

He  _ could  _ have turned on the archers himself, casting a cold spell over the top of them, freezing them in place. He could have spent the next attack-free moments getting to Dorian, and warning him about the danger he faced. Or he could have turned to them and finished them off himself, bringing down lightning bolts or a stone fist onto their heads. Dead in an instant. 

_ And Dorian would be safe.  _

But he didn’t do that. He was frozen, himself, horrified at the prospect that something might happen to Dorian, his fingers letting his staff slip through them the second he noticed the danger the mage was in. 

He  _ could  _ have called for the Iron Bull. The large qunari warrior was only a stone’s throw away from the group. The second they would have heard Mahanon’s shout they would have started to flee. All of the Inquisition’s enemies knew of the Iron Bull by now. And they all knew they didn’t want to fight him head-on. They would have run, fled and possibly retreated all the way. 

_ And Dorian would be safe.  _

But he didn’t do that. He liked Bull, he really did, but it was difficult to not get bitter when you see someone else take and have everything that you wanted. Some pettiness inside of him, some beaten-up and shrivelled pride said that  _ no, _ that was not an option. He didn’t even consider it. It didn’t cross his mind. 

He could have called Cole. The rogue was farther away, granted, but the spirit could appear behind those archers in an instant. He’d kill one with a backstab straight off, and the others would turn around in fear and surprise, lowering their bows at such close range. Cole would have slashed another’s throat and went for the other one’s knees. And then the spirit would disappear again, finding another target, leaving them bleeding out and wounded on the floor.

_ And Dorian would be safe. _

But he didn’t do that. Cole wasn’t in his eyeline: he wasn’t thinking about tactics. He wasn’t thinking about which of these was the best case scenario. All he knew was what the worst case scenario was: Dorian dying. He wasn’t going to let that happen. 

Yes, there were plenty of things he would have done  _ if  _ he was thinking clearly. But he wasn’t. He never did when it came to the mage. 

He was in love with him. He wanted him to be happy and safe and loved. He wanted to be  _ more _ than the best friends they’d turned out to be.  _ He  _ wanted to be the one that Dorian told his friends about. He wanted Dorian to look at him the way he looked at the Iron Bull. He wanted Dorian. 

It was stupid and it was dangerous and it was probably going to get them both hurt… but it was love. And Mahanon couldn’t do anything about that. 

_ Don’t hurt him. _

So as those next arrows lanced through the air, Mahaon’s mind narrowed in on that soft whooshing and their target. He became single-minded, the only thing he could think was stopping them. 

_ Don’t hurt him. _

So he didn’t consider his options. He didn’t think about the better ways he could save him. Just that he  _ had _ to save him.

_ Don’t hurt Dorian. _

He wasn’t thinking tactically. All he was thinking was-

_ DON’T HURT DORIAN!  _

Mahanon leapt in front of the other mage, shielding him as the arrows showered down towards him. A moment later the arrows made contact and a sick, crunching and squelching sound rang out. A cough, wet with blood. 

Dorian span around at the sound, “Mahanon?” He yelled in surprise, seeing the elf so close… and then seeing his face contorted in pain and the rapidly darkening patch seeping through his underarmour and dripping onto his leather armour, “Vishante kaf-”

His voice was cut off when the elf stumbled forwards, dazed, and the mage had to catch him to stop him from falling. Dorian knelt with him, taking the brunt of the momentum as he did. His golden eyes were wide, worried and confused, glancing down at him in shock, “Bull!” He shouted, knowing that he would have to stay with Mahanon and wouldn’t be able to watch his own back, “I need help!” 

His eyes were fixed on Mahanon’s back, where five arrows were lodged. He looked away. Mahanon was going to be okay. He was the Inquisitor: of course, he was going to be okay. He propped the elf up at an angle, so that he wasn’t lying face down but also that the arrows weren’t pressed into the ground, forcing them deeper. It wasn’t easy and he was straining with the effort, but he had to do  _ something.  _ Dorian made eye contact with Mahanon, gold clashing with green. 

Dorian froze. 

He’d seen the Inquisitor happy. He’d seen him sad. He’d seen him angry. He  _ knew  _  Mahanon like no one else in his inner circle. He’d been there to laugh, to drink, to chat with. He’d been there when they were tossed through time together, watched how confused his explanations made him. He’d seen him giggle so high-pitched it made the panes of glass in the window shake. He’d seen him throw apples at his advisors and duck behind trees to hide. Maker, he’d even seen him  _ naked.  _

But never once, had he seen Mahanon  _ scared.  _

And it was the most frightening thing in the world. 

The Iron Bull appeared next to him, faster than a body of his size should have been able to get there, “Crap,” he said, looking at Mahanon with his eye widening, “I’ve got your back. You work your magic.” 

Dorian would have laughed. If he could. 

He pulled a few healing potions and balms out of his sack. They didn’t look like they’d do too much good, but it was better than nothing. “Maker, Mahanon, what were you thinking?” he asked, under his breath, not really expecting a reply. 

Then came a cough from the body in his lap, blood trickling down his lip, “I-I wasn’t…” he managed, groaning. His head was spinning and his arms were twitching at his sides. His every movement ached but he needed to do something about the pain, maybe yank the arrows out? If only he could… reach… 

“Stop moving,” came the authoritative command from above him, and he raised his dazed eyes to Dorian’s, “You need to relax. I’m going to rub this in,” he said, motioning to the salve he had in his hand. It was supposed to knit flesh and bone back together. He’d never seen it before, and he had severe doubts about it, but the amount of blood that was leaking from around those arrows… he had to do something. If it did heal him, it would have to heal around the arrows for now. They were stopping the majority of the bleeding already, even if it was still spilling everywhere, the dark sticky liquid pooling on Dorian’s clothes.

Mahanon hissed at the contact near his torn flesh, the cold salve not in the least bit soothing. Pain washed over his mind again. He was light-headed, and didn’t quite know which way was up and that was  _ terrifying.  _

Dorian was remaining calm. Mahanon was not. 

He was going to die here. This would be how the Inquisitor died. Protecting a Tevinter mage. A Tevinter mage that he loved. It was ridiculous. There was something sad, almost ironic about it. 

If he was going to die here, would he really not tell Dorian that? Would he die, and Dorian would never know how he felt?

Mahanon screwed his eyes shut, tears stinging behind them, a new pain stirring in his heart. He really messed this up. He’d never get to tell the mage everything he’d planned to say, told him about everything he felt. He never had a chance for Dorian’s heart. By the Creators - he never had a chance to  _ fight  _ for Dorian at all. 

He wasted it. He wasted his time with him. And now it was over. 

Mahanon struggled to open his eyes, his eyelids lead. He met Dorian’s eyes. 

He had to know. 

“D-Dori...an,” he gasped.

“Don’t speak, Mahanon, it’s going to be okay,” Dorian said soothingly back to him, holding his eye contact to ensure that the elf knew that he meant it. He  _ was  _ going to be okay. Dorian would be damned if he didn’t make it through this. 

The elf shook his head stiffly, seeing the world darken before him, the abyss ready and waiting to swallow him up, “I…”

“Shh, Mahanon,  _ please.  _ It’s for your own good, for Maker’s sake!”   
It went silent for a moment as Mahanon’s eyelids fell shut again. Dorian stiffened in surprise. He wasn’t gone? Was he? He couldn’t hav-

_ “I… lo-ve… y…”  _ The cracked voice trailed off as he lost consciousness completely, leaving Dorian shocked, staring into shut eyelids, calling for help, for aid, for someone,  _ anyone- _

“HELP!”

 

* * *

It was dark. 

Mahanon was floating somewhere. He couldn’t see anything. It was warm. The air felt soft. He didn’t know where he was. He didn’t even know if his eyes were open. He was scared. 

But he was content. 

He told him. He told Dorian how he felt. It was a success. Even in death, he managed to-

Suddenly the dark wasn’t so dark anymore, a bright light filling everything, and he felt himself being tugged out. Out of the warm, soft embrace of the darkness and into that bright shrieking light. 

When he came to, blinking through the light that turned out to just be sunlight from a window, he was just as dazed and confused. He was in a stone room, on a large bed, with a man leaning directly into his face with a grin. 

“Oh, you’re awake! Good!” The man said, a healer, Mahanon assumed. Even in his sleep-addled state, he knew didn’t know the man and he knew he wasn’t here to  _ hurt  _ him, so he made the most logical leap. The man pulled out of his face and turned briskly on his heels and left, leaving him alone. 

Mahanon thought he was alone, anyway, until he saw movement in the corner of his eye. He gasped softly. 

It was Dorian, slowly removing his head from his hands, his face tired, sad and scared. The mage looked at him, eyes full of disdain. 

“We need to talk.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope y'all enjoyed! Let me know if you did! ;)


End file.
